Dreaming In Blonde
by leoandsnake
Summary: Harry's been having some distracting dreams lately about Malfoy, so he decides to do something about it. Too bad it's in public. My sad attempt at being poetic with prose, enjoy


Harry dawdled after Potions class; hanging in the doorway for no particular reason.

Actually, he supposed, with a slight frown playing at his lips, it was because of his dreams.

And his stomach quaked irrepressibly as his dreams--as Malfoy--brushed by him roughly, smirking.

"Wake up!"

Smirking...

"WAKE UP, HARRY!"

Harry's conciousness shifted. Ron was standing in front of him, pulling him out of the dungeon, confusion in his eyes.

"What is wrong with you?" he said as they shifted through the crowd.

"What?" Harry said weakly, feeling his shoulder where the brushing and smirking lit him on fire.

"We're late," Ron said. He sounded vaguely nervous, as if being around Harry was putting him at unease. "For Charms."

* * *

"Harry, WAKE UP."

Harry's eyelids fluttered. Ron was standing over his bed in the dark dormitory at night.

Why was Ron always staring at him? Harry felt irritation nestle in his side, barbed.

"You kept moaning and thrashing around in your sleep," Ron said, exasperated. "What's going on with you, mate? Are you having Voldemort dreams or something?"

"No," Harry said softly, his throat roughly breaking the word in two. He coughed slightly. "No. Not since last year."

Ron sat on his rumpled bedcovers. "Listen, this is the fifth night in a row I've had to wake you up. What are you dreaming about?"

"Nothing, Ron," Harry said. He felt the irritation grow deeper. "Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

Ron cast him a disbelieving glance and left his bedside.

* * *

Harry roamed the Quidditch pitch on his Firebolt. His eyes were not on the Snitch, but the other Seeker.

"Slytherin scores, making it a tie, fifty-fifty," Luna Lovegood murmured dreamily into the microphone.

Harry pulled his broom up abruptly. There it was, glittering, thirty feet away--maybe less...

His eyes met Malfoy's. His heart stuttered.

Fuck this, Harry growled to himself. No more dreaming. Just--here.

He sped up, his heart speeding up, too. Intensity swept across his bones, through his chest, adrenaline pumped, pumped, pumped.

It was over in a few seconds, his broom had spanned that thirty feet. And their hands met.

It was Malfoy's hand on Harry's, and his chest went through such a thrill, he couldn't be staying on his broom--but he did--and his hand on his, the intensity...

And then a fist landed on Harry's jaw, and he toppled sideways. Their brooms raced to the ground. Harry had to get there, so he could kill that little rat... infesting his dreams with thoughts of his blonde hair..

"Fuck... OFF..." Harry grunted, wrestling Malfoy to the ground, pinning him, beating him.

There were whistles, screaming, whimpering, yelling, jets of light flying through the air for Harry and Malfoy together. He punched and punched and clawed, until he couldn't take it anymore. This creature in him was growing and growling and filling his thoughts, the creature that lived in his dreams and lived in his stomach and was Malfoy's creature, and he kissed him.

If there were a stranger sound than a stadium full of people gasping, Harry didn't know of it. He _didn't_ know of it, all he knew was lips, glorious lips, touching his and his own touching blond, tugging at him, red hot lips and faces and tongues, and Malfoy gasped. He was hard, Harry knew it, and with a brilliant satisfaction that Malfoy wasn't the only one dreaming about lips--with adrenaline flooding through his bones and arteries and blood pumping, pumping hard so that Harry wouldn't pass out right there next to their brooms, their hardness, and their dreams realized--with that, Harry pulled away.

"And Gryffindor has the Snitch, they've won," Luna said, her serene voice echoing across the pitch.

Malfoy stood up.

There was a horrible and deep silence. Harry's eyes found the Gryffindor box, and there was horror there. Horror and incredulity.

Harry stood up, too, the Snitch clutched in his sweating palm, his pulse throbbing against the cold metal. He felt like something was off his chest that had been there for a long time, and with a sigh of regret, he knew that that moment was worth whatever and however he would have to pay for it.


End file.
